


Hard Day's Night

by meabhair



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meabhair/pseuds/meabhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's irritated and irritable after a long night, and decides to amuse himself. </p>
<p>Also known in my WiP folder as the "gratuitous self gratification fic"...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Day's Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madder_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madder_rose/gifts).



> This is part of a larger BDSM AU I've been working on since NaNoWriMo, so I'm posting this to give myself a push to finish the monster. Shouldn't be any spoilers for the Avengers, but Iron Man and Captain America are fair game. 
> 
> It's also a slightly belated birthday present to madder_rose, who was also awesome enough to beta this for me. All remaining mistakes are mine!

Bad day.  Stupid, irritating, pompous bad day.  Worse than that, Tony had been called from his workshop, away from the sweet, flirtatious repulsor template that would be the sexy centre point of his new jet design, as soon as the sexy temptress would just talk to him.  Tony scrubbed at his sopping wet hair with the towel as if it would wipe the day away.  Yes, he’d been pulled away from that deliciousness to dance to Coulson’s tune.  Stupid boy-band super teams.  With their stupid, sexy, uninterested superheroes.  Tony didn’t often feel self-conscious, but it was hard not to measure himself against the American ideal and a Norse God.  One of his hands dropped from the towel to unconsciously pat at his arc reactor for a moment or two.  Even worse, Tony had no idea how a boring meeting, of the sort that he’d avoided while CEO of Stark Industries, had managed to get him covered in smelly, sticky goo.  Snorting to himself, Tony decided that he’d never again attend a stupid, irritating, boring meeting without wearing the suit.    
  
“Ha!  And, I can play Angry Birds or sleep! Coulson will never know!  Take that, Super Nanny Agent!”   
  
Tony’s voice echoed around the empty room, bouncing back oddly from the open door to the steamy en suite, no reply as JARVIS had been banished earlier for treason.  Dropping the now saturated towel messily near the door, Tony tugged slightly at the simple drawstring pants that clung to his hips.  What to do next?  Steve, that over eager den mother, had suggested a team meal to keep Fury and his current team bonding kick satisfied, but if he went, Tony would be wordlessly conceding this round of bickering.  That really wasn’t happening anytime soon. No.  And, Pepper, the traitor and instigator of traitor-ism in innocent AI’s, had had words with JARVIS and had cut off most of his power to the workshop until Tony had more than four hours sleep in a row.    
  
Well, that was never going to happen.  Tony prowled around his room, irritated and irritable.  Picking up his tablet, he stabbed at it a few times, then dropped it on top of the damp towel.  He put on his sneakers, looped round the room, then toed them off.  Stupid day.  Tony scratched idly at his belly while staring at the far wall.  Stupid wall.  Tony sighed heavily.  Today should just go away and leave him alone.  He rocked forward then back on his heels before tipping his weight back again, and again, before  his weight unbalanced him and he fell backward, landing on the large bed behind him.  The covers were too smooth, too neat, that would never do.  Tony twisted his shoulders, pushing with one leg to slide him towards the centre.  Tony felt a small thrill of malicious glee at the destruction of his neat bed.  He made a squirmy starfish in the centre, wiggling until there was a mess.  Yeah.  Bored now.   
  
Tony closed his eyes, tipping his head backwards, deeper into the mound of pillows.  Lazily he scratched a thumbnail lightly along his jaw, feeling the different lengths of stubble there compared to his goatee before trailing the thumb back along towards his neck.  Slowly, slowly he dragged the pad of his thumb along the muscle of his throat, sensitive to the change in texture of his skin.  As his thumb trailed along, his right hand grasped at the bed sheets to keep him anchored.  He wondered what it would be like for Steve to do that.  Would Steve be gentle, feather light with his touches?  So conscious of his strength that he would treat the offered neck as fragile?  Or would he be confident and reach out with the awareness that he could take what he wanted?   
  
Tony hummed low in his chest, liking the idea that Steve would be assured and take his time in the same way he took command of the battle field.  All soft voiced orders that Tony could do nothing but obey.   The deep sound thrummed below his thumb and he pressed the rest of his fingers in a line below his collarbone.  Digging his fingernails lightly into the soft skin, right below where it stretched over the hard bone, Tony drew lines down his chest, developing into random patterns along the patch of scar free skin.  The shock of sensation made him suck air in sharply.  He twisted in the soft, soft sheets, enjoying the contrast between the smoothness beneath him and the harshness of his own fingers. He arched his back, trying to squirm out of the worn drawstring pants without touching them.  The smooth sheets did nothing to help him, frustrating him enough to release his grip on the sheets below him only long enough to shove his pants down towards his knees.    
  
The fabric was caught, bunched up around his knees as he got distracted by the texture of skin on his hip.  He could feel that flex of muscle working over the bone as he kicked the fabric off, the palm of his hand flattened over the warmed skin.  It was so tempting to drift sideways, towards the coarse hair that hid delicate skin, but he twisted to run his hand down the broad muscle at the top of his leg, towards his knee as he bent it to reach.  The skin on his chest felt tender from his fingernails, and he brought that hand back to his mouth.  A broad swipe from his tongue wet the heel of his thumb and he used it to soothe the irritated skin.    
  
The raised scar tissue that surrounded the arc reactor was swiped over gently, but Tony’s attention skittered round it, driving his fingers to search out the nipple instead.  He dragged the fingers around the flat muscle before running a thumbnail just below the softer pink skin.  The sensation felt good, but pinching the nub felt better, so much better.  Finally, Tony closed his eyes, pressing his hips down and arching his neck, flattening his feet on the sheets.  The hand on his thigh shifted with the move, finding the warmth along his inner thigh, and ghosted back towards his body.  With his eyes closed, he could pretend that Steve was there, that Steve was watching, was telling him what to do, where to touch.  It would be good to share this, to be able to be this vulnerable with someone he could trust.    
  
But that was not what he wanted to think about, no, he wanted to enjoy this.  Sucking in a breath deep enough to stretch his ribs, Tony grasped his cock.  The dampness from earlier wasn’t enough, so he pulled his hand back to lick at it, wetting it again, making it slick.  This time his hand ran smoothly along his cock.  He held it tentatively for a moment, trying to see if he could mimic Steve’s grasp.  Would it be a tentative grasp?  Would those large hands shake?  Would it be as confident and firm as his handshake?  Tony settled on a light but firm grip.  Steve would be so aware of his strength, but once he committed, he’d be decisive, Tony thought.    
  
A firm grasp, not too hard, Tony pumped several times before running his thumb over the head, spreading the damp bead at the top, rough skin at the pad tugging deliciously at the delicate smoothness.  His breath sucked in at the feel, warmth building in his belly and radiating up his chest.  The loose ring of thumb and forefinger looped round the head of his cock, running down the length and twisting.  The knuckles of the pumping hand brushed off the hand that had stilled where it lay at the junction of his thigh, reminding him that he had two hands to work with.  Oh, yes, he did.  Spreading the fingers of the nearly forgotten hand, he cupped his balls, feather light touch contrasting with the tightening of fingers round his cock.   He bit his lip as the sensations spilled through him, focusing him on his hands, his cock and his balls, so good, warm and buzzing.    
  
The feel of tightening skin below his grasping hand warned him, he tugged gently down, enjoying this moment much too much to have a quick spill.  Teasing himself, Tony slowed his pumping, slowing the burn in his belly to a lasting fire.  Suddenly, Tony wanted more, the feel of the rest of his body nearly forgotten in the warmth of his arousal.  Rolling his shoulders, Tony tipped his head sideways, opening his eyes to see the messy sheets and scattered pillows hiding the bedside table.   The would be lube there, probably restocked by Pepper, brilliant, awesome Pepper who was always too good for Tony, patient Pepper.  Thinking about Pepper gave him the usual fond stab in his chest, warm hurt that had faded a little in time, but probably would never fully go away, and Tony dismissed the whole train of thought.  Instead, he focused on how to get the lube, out of the drawer, free from the tube and onto his cock and beyond.  Which hand to choose?   Stupid day.   
  
Resentfully, Tony let go of his cock, continuing to cradle his balls in the palm of one hand.  The other reached for the drawer, swatting the irritating and supposedly decorative cushions to the floor.  Really, why would Tony need so many fluffy mounds of softness, they just got in the way.  Stupid things. Ruthlessly, he stretched, decimated bedding in his wake as he scrabbled at the drawer.  Wait, nearly, nearly, yes! Victory was his as the drawer slid open with minimal loss of fingernails.  Tony could feel the debris he tended to dump in empty spaces, using his fingers to try pry the smooth tube out from under the usual clutter.  The fingers of his cradling hand spread outward, exploring to the warm smooth skin behind.  He spread his legs further to allow access as he fruitlessly scrabbled for the damned lube.    
  
Finally, finally he got the tips of two fingers to pinch the top, flicking the elusive tube onto the bedspread beside his hip.  Grabbing it, Tony snagged it properly, bringing it up to his mouth so he could pull the top off with his teeth.  It was times like this he deeply regretted his replacing pump top tubes with other substances that made life easier in the workshop but not the bedroom.  With a last snarl, he was able to pop the lid off, spitting it out to disappear over the side of the bed to clatter forlornly on the floor.  No matter, Tony had what he needed.  Tipping the tube, he squeezed the stuff into a pool on his belly, the shock of the cold causing him to jerk, thrusting his hips forward into his tightening fist.  Good, but it would be better soon.  So much better.  He scooped up the gel, warming it and slicking up the hand that had teased between his legs before returning it down.  The slick covered fingers followed a path that skirted the junction of his leg, around the pull of skin at his cock to trace over and behind his balls to the smooth path behind.  They stilled their journey for a moment before tracing a snowflake-light touch around the pucker.    
  
Tony screwed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the double sensation of his own hands travelling across sensitive skin.  Instead, he visualised Steve, Steve’s big hands running past Tony’s softly curved belly, his tense legs, his cock.  Big hands teasing at such a little entrance to Tony’s body, tapping lightly before sliding away. Approaching again to run around the edge, sending little flickers of anticipation straight to Tony’s spine, which arched off the bed, jostling both hands. No, Tony was not getting knocked out of this fantasy, he had Steve’s attention, he didn’t need to strut or boast or advertise. No, instead of Steve’s irritation or frustration, he had Steve’s lust and want and need.  The first finger broached Tony, smooth slick easing the shock slightly, but even so, Tony’s nipples tightened even further.  His chest felt too tight, had he forgotten to breathe?  In his mind, Tony could hear Steve’s battlefield voice, the one that didn’t even understand the potential for rebellion tell him to take a deep breath, to relax so Steve could take control.   
  
Deeper, deeper the fingers explored, as the fist around Tony’s cock began to pick up its pace again.  The fingers pumped slowly but picked up speed, unable to match the tempo of the hand that was jacking Tony off, the tightness denying Tony the chance to really match rhythms and tip himself over the edge.  The angle was awkward, even tipping his hips didn’t help Tony get all that he wanted inside.  If it was really Steve, he’d have the fullness he wanted, if it was really Steve.  Tony sobbed, digging his heels in, trying to push his hips deeper into his hands, unable to get to the angle he wanted.  Stupid fingers, not long enough to really hit the spot, teasingly out of reach.  Tony could tell, it was only just out of reach, nearly there, but yet not.   He whined out his frustration, his wrists beginning to burn with the repetitive movements.      
  
Tony could hear the harsh pants his breathing had become, sharp rasps broken with something that sounded like whimpers, but no, no, Tony Stark did not whimper.  He was nearly there, almost, almost.  He twisted his hand nearly viciously and rocked the palm over the head, putting the pressure right below the dip and down, and again but harder.  None of his tricks  worked, were there any toys, anything to break this, make him come or explode into a million pieces, he didn’t care as long as this finished.  He twisted violently, shoving with one foot to land himself half on his front, propped up with one of those stupid cushions, one leg propping himself half up instead of flat on his belly.  The change let him get slightly deeper but stopped him from really working the rhythm along his cock.  His hips stuttered against the bed sheets and suddenly Tony had an image of himself, spread out, ass exposed and filled with his fingers, dilated eyes and bitten lip, struggling towards something.  Would Steve like that? Would he like looking at Tony, needy and greedy for his attention, waiting for Steve’s touch and unable to come without it?   
  
Steve would lean in behind Tony, close enough to feel the heat, but not touching, only leaning in to whisper something in Tony’s ear.   
  
“Mine.”   
  
Like they had developed a mind of their own, Tony’s hips snapped forward into his hand, suddenly hitting the angle he didn’t realise he wanted.  Tony felt disconnected as his body twisted in orgasm, as muscles tightened in pleasing torture, skin tingled like lightning, the too much, not enough feeling spreading, warming, conquering and leaving him wrung out.  Aftershocks rocked him as he floated above it all, waiting for the brain that had shorted out to reboot.  Tony sprawled like an ungainly scarecrow, abandoned across the fabric, the cooling mess spread below his belly eventually causing him to roll over to his other side.  The warmth had seeped into his bones, slowing his thoughts to a crawl as he catalogued the sensations.  His eyes were burning slightly and his eyelids were a warm ache over them.  His belly was sticky, but he could shower once his legs stopped the sharp aftershocks.  His wrists were aching, but, yeah, worth it.  His breathing was dropping into a deep rhythm.    
  
It had been good, Tony thought fuzzily, but he couldn’t think what was bothering him.  Sleep was claiming him, maybe he’d even get the four hours Pepper had insisted on.  Steve would be happy.  Steve, his irritating team leader, who had the ability to make him come by his very imaginary presence.  Tony’s last coherent thoughts, before he fell asleep, catalogued the ways that this would come back to bite him on the ass.   
  
“Oh, hell.”


End file.
